Prologue

The Funeral of a Mind Warrior

On May 14, 1987, some of the most powerful men in Washington, including senators, ambassadors, cabinet officers, generals, and two former directors of Central intelligence, gathered in a small church in Arlington, Virginia to pay their last respects to James Jesus Angleton.  The only decoration was a wreath of giant purple orchids, sent by Angleton’s former comrades in theOSS, the organization where forty-four years earlier he had begun his career as a spy.   Few words were spoken, nor needed to be.  The poem “Gerontion,” written by his friend T. S. Eliot, perfectly described his quest.  It describes a blind man’s journey through a “wilderness of mirrors,” a journey very much like Angleton’s effort to find his way through the labyrinth of deception in the Cold War. The service for the poet-spy was over in less than forty minutes.

Most of those attending the service were familiar with Angleton’s extraordinary career.  He was born on December 9,1917in Boise, Idaho, the same year as the Russian Revolution.  His father, James Hugh Angleton, had been a cavalry officer in the Idahonational guard who had met his mother, Carmen Mercedes Moreno, on a military expedition to Mexico.  She was only seventeen year old when they married.  She gave her son a common Mexican middle name, Jesus.  Fifteen years later, his father bought the Italian franchise for the National Cash Register Company, and moved his family to MilanItaly.  Angleton then went to MalvernCollegein Englandbefore going to Yale in 1937.  There, together with his roommate Reed Whittemore, he founded and edited Furioso, a quarterly devoted to original poetry.  Through it, he published such leading poets as Ezra Pound, Archibald MacLeish, and e.e cummings.   He graduated with high honors in 1941 and married Cicely d’Autremont.   He briefly went toHarvardLawSchool, but never graduated.  Instead he joined the U.S. Army, enrolling, along with his father, in the Office of Strategic Services (OSS),America’s newly formed intelligence service. He was first stationed inLondon and thenRome.  When theOSS was dissolved in 1945, Angleton was assigned to a secret intelligence unit, called the “Central Intelligence Group,” which became the CIA in 1947.  Re-assigned to itsWashington headquarters in 1949, he acted as the CIA liaison with the British, French, Italian, and West German intelligence services.  Then in 1954, he was made the chief of the newly-created Counterintelligence Staff, a position which he held until Christmas Eve of 1975 when he retired from the CIA.

After his death, his actual achievements were eclipsed by his legend.  In the media, he was transmogrified into the CIA’s version of a Captain Ahab wreaking destruction of all around him by his pursuit of his own phantasmagorical great white whale.  Books on the CIA depicted him as a paranoid mole hunter obsessively searching for non-existing spies planted in the heart of the CIA and non-existing deception plots aimed at the American government. His legend also became the stuff of fiction.  He was the basis for a deranged and paranoid spy hunter in everything from movies, such as The Good Shepherd (where he is played by Matt Damon) and TV mini-series, such as The Company (where he is played by Michael Keaton) to novels, such as Norman Mailer’s Harlot’s Ghost.   Like many legends, his portrayal had some basis in reality.  It is true that he had deep-seated suspicions about KGB operations that could be construed as paranoia.   It is also true that he conducted a 20 year long mole hunt, that he believed both the CIA and FBI were vulnerable to Soviet penetration at the highest level, and that the KGB passed disinformation through intelligence channels to the White House.  Even though these contentions of a state-sponsored conspiracy to  manipulate  Presidents of theUnited States made him the object of ridicule in the media,  the question remains: Was Angleton right?

/wiki/US_Army/wiki/Vassar_College/wiki/Tucson,_Arizona

Part One

Down the Rabbit Hole

1. Flowers of Deception

I first met James Jesus Angleton in February 1976.  At that time, I knew nothing about his secret world of deception. Nor had I even heard of the concepts of “disinformation”, “dangles” “false flags” or “penetrations,” which were central elements in it.

I had just begun a book on Lee Harvey Oswald, the alleged assassin of President John F. Kennedy.  Although Oswald was investigated by the Warren Commission, the FBI, and other intelligence services, there was still a missing piece in the jigsaw puzzle– the nearly two years that he had spent in theSoviet Unionbefore he returned to theUnited Statesin 1962. What had happened to Oswald during this period?  Had he had connections with Soviet intelligence during this Russian period?  Had the KGB sponsored his return to theUS?  Had he been given any mission inAmerica?

I had now been offered an opportunity to exclusively interview a man who supposedly could provide definitive answers to all these questions– Yuri Nosenko.  He was the KGB officer who had not only superintended Oswald’s handling inMoscowin 1959 but had also reviewed his entire file KGB after the assassination. He then defected to the CIA. Not even the Warren Commission had been allowed to interview him.  Now Donald Jamison, who was handling Nosenko on behalf of the CIA, was making him available for a book I was writing for the Reader’s Digest Press.  “Nosenko is utterly reliable on the subject of Oswald,” Jamison assured me, “He had full access to his KGB records.”  How could I refuse such an offer?

I had begun my interviews with Nosenko in January 1976.  After I had completed six hours of interviews with Nosenko, I found several of the assertions he made about the KGB’s treatment of Oswald inconsistent with other evidence furnished the Warren Commission.  Even though I was assured by his CIA handler that he was utterly reliable on the subject, and had full access to KGB records, as he claimed, I was not completely satisfied. His insistence that the KGB had never contacted Oswald during his stay in theSoviet Unionseemed implausible since Oswald had loudly advertised on his arrival that he had some secret information of special interest to theSoviet Union.

My doubts were not entirely alleviated.  I had lunch later that week with a Soviet diplomat in Washington, Igor Agou, to facilitate getting a visa to go toRussia.  When I told Agou that I wanted to interview a number of Russian citizens who had been acquaintances of Oswald, he replied, “there is no need for you to go toRussia.”  He then, lowering his voice to a whisper, added, “the best source on Oswald’s visit there is inAmerica. He is Yuri Nosenko.”   I found it curious that the Soviet Embassy would recommend that I see a Soviet traitor: indeed, the same traitor the CIA had also recommended to me.

Disquieted by this coincidence, I went back to see Jamison.  I pressed him about why, if Nosenko was such a valuable source, the Warren Commission had not called him as a witness in 1964.  After all, the Commission noted in its report that it lacked access to the Soviet files on Oswald.  According to both Jamison and Agou, Nosenko could have filled that gap.

He answered that there had been some “minor problem” with Nosenko at that time.  They were “technicalities” about his defection that had now been cleared up.  When I asked further about the problem, he said that it was  “too sensitive” to be discussed.  He closed the issue by saying “In any case, it is not relevant to your book. Don’t worry about it further.”

But I did.  I began looking for an ex-CIA officer who would know about the problem with Nosenko in 1964.  In 1975, the investigative reporter Seymour Hersh had published a story in the New York Times reporting an illegal CIA counterintelligence activity that resulted in the firing of a number of CIA executives.  The most prominent among them was James Jesus Angleton, who, on checking his name, I found that he had also been a liaison with the Warren Commission.

Making contact with Angleton was not difficult; he was listed in theVirginiatelephone directory.  When told him on the phone that I had interviewed Nosenko, he said “I wouldn’t have thought they would be letting him out so soon– but I would be very interested in what he has to say.” He agreed to meet me for dinner at theMadisonHotel, which he chose because it had a “secure garage.”

He arrived in a black homburg, looking like someone that Central Casting might have chosen for the part of a counterintelligence chief. He was ghostly-thin, with deep-set eyes accentuated by arched eyebrows.  He had an enigmatic smile, and a finely-sculptured face which, I later learned, had been proposed half-facetiously as an appropriate logo for the CIA.

He lit a cigarette as we sat down at the table and coughed.  He explained that he suffered from emphysema and ulcers.  A quarter of a century in counterintelligence had evidently exacted some toll.

Since Angleton’s counterintelligence staff had the responsibility for evaluating information supplied by KGB defectors, I assumed that he would be in a position to clarify what Nosenko had been telling me about Oswald and the KGB.  I had no idea then that Nosenko had been the subject of a bitter ten-year battle inside the CIA that had been buried, along with a half-dozen careers, but not settled.   I merely want to know why the Warren Commission had not called Nosenko.  So  I asked him “Was there any problem with Nosenko’s veracity?”.

Angleton answered, with a thin smile, suggesting a deliberate understatement, “There are always problems when it comes to defectors.”  He explained that his job was establishing the bona fides of defectors.  “And that was not always possible.”

“Did you award Nosenko his bona fides?” I asked.

He replied that he could not discuss individual cases, and with that, he abruptly cut off the conversation about Nosenko, and effortlessly moved on to another subject of which I had no understanding at all: orchids.

“There are over ten thousand identified species of orchids divided into tribes,” I heard him say.  He was describing orchid tribes, growing at different levels of a rain forest, with such exotic names as Dendrobian, Phalaenopsis, Cattleya, Cymbidian, and Brassia.  He then invited me to accompany him to an orchid supplier called Kensington Orchids inMaryland

I met him there the following week.  He talked as we walked through the steamy greenhouse as if he were conducting a lecture tour.

What fascinated him about these orchids were their deceptive qualities. As he explained it, it has not been the fittest but the most deceptive orchid that has survived.  The perpetuation of most species of orchids depend on their ability to misrepresent themselves to insects.  Having no food to offer the insects, they had to deceive them into landing on them and carrying their pollen to another orchid in the tribe.  Orchids are too dispersed in nature to depend on the wind to carry their pollen.

To accomplish this deception, orchids use color, shape and odor to mimic something that attracts insects to their pods of pollen. Some orchids play on the sexual instincts of insects.  The Trichoceros orchid, for example, so perfectly mimics in three-dimensions the underside of a female fly, down to the hairs and smell, that it triggers mating response from passing male flies. Seeing what he thinks is a female fly, the male fly swoops down on the orchid, and attempts to have sex with it– a process called pseudo-copulation. The motion causes the fly to hit the pollen pod, which attaches itself to his underside. The fly thus becomes an unwitting carrier. When it then passes another trichoceros orchid, and repeats the frustrating process, it pollinates that orchid.

Other orchids play on the survival instinct of insects. Some oncidium orchids have an almost exact replica of a bee’s head on their petals.  When a passing wasps sees this image of danger lurking behind it, its survival mechanism is triggered. The wasp plunges its stinger through its illusionary foe.  The stinger passes through the petal into the pollen pod, which then adheres to it.  When the wasp sees another Oncidium orchid, which provokes the same response, it pollinates the orchid.  Angleton called this process of provocation, “pseudo-attack”.

In yet another twist on this theme, orchids lure insects to them by emitting odors that exactly mimic those of nectar and other food sources.  This smell lures the insect into the orchid’s maze-like structure where instead of finding the nectar it runs into the pollen.  This deception is especially effective against the mosquito who, while looking for nectar in a narrow tunnel, gets the pollen pod jammed into its eye.  Unable to see, it flies away, until it smells a similar nectar. The blind mosquito this time delivers the pollen.   He explained that such deceptions work because identifications in nature are often hastily keyed to a single signal, without insects having the ability to assess whether the object itself is real or fake.

By this time, it became clear that he was not only talking about an insect being manipulated through deception but an intelligence service being similarly duped, seduced, provoked, blinded, lured down false trails and used by an enemy.  Finally, at a long leisurely lunch inGeorgetown, I returned to the subject of Nosenko. Was Angleton suggesting that a KGB defector like Nosenko could have mimicked a real defector to attract the CIA to misleading information.

He answered “Soviet intelligence certainly has that capacity”.

“The capacity to send out false defectors?”

“You know about The Trust”?

I shook my head, I had not heard of The Trust before. “Is it t connected to the Nosenko case?

He answered ” If you want to understand Soviet deception, you have to go back to The Trust.  Otherwise, you’ll just waste my time. Talk to the Rock.  He’ll tell you all about it.”

Title: James Jesus Angleton: Was He Right?
Author: Edward Jay Epstein
So;d by: Amazon Digital Services
ASIN: B005LPE5SC

Go to James Jesus Angleton: Was He Right? page @ Amazon »

London, 1891

The feeling of the knife cutting off her left breast was sharp, stinging, but muted by the pain of what had already been done to her. She was looking at her entrails spilling from the cut that opened her body from hip-bone to hip-bone, and the sight seemed to dull the fresh trauma of the new assault on her body.

She couldn’t see him clearly any more, but she knew that he was straddling her body and his knife hand was industrious in its actions. Her breathing was now ragged and at times her throat closed of its own volition, almost as if her body wanted to end the agony by denying her lungs the oxygen they needed to keep her alive. Her eyes were blurring now and she knew that she wasn’t far from death.

Her attacker’s hands were bloody from the organs he had removed from her and placed on the cobblestones to one side, and he added her left breast to the pathetic little pile of her body parts before wiping his hands on her clothes. He was humming softly as he reached into the brown leather bag on the ground and removed another instrument that glinted in the light from the nearby gas lamp.

She turned her head so she wouldn’t see what he was about to do with this new, slightly curved implement, and a flash of movement registered on her dying eyes. Two people, coming fast from the dark behind her tormentor, a brief violent struggle, and within seconds he lay on the ground, subdued and manacled with his face pressed against the wet road.

As her eyes stilled and filmed over, and the last breath left her body, the dense fog swirled around the gaslight and her blood ran dark into the gutter in the cold Whitechapel night.

#

Washington, DC, Present Day

He stood in the room and waited for her. It was not an imposition. He could have sat down – there were chairs, even a couch there – but he preferred to stand. Somehow it seemed more…professional. Yes, that was the word. Professional.

The big man had given him a key to the front door and the code to shut the alarm down. He didn’t ask how they had been obtained. He always got what he required to do a job or the big man didn’t send him in. It made it much easier to focus on the things he needed to do, the things he was good at. Like killing.

He was standing in a living room, a spacious room decorated with some style and taste. He knew about that because he read “Homes & Gardens” and he was up-to-date on the trends in the world of interior decorating. He liked the neutral carpet and the off-white couches with contrasting dull wine-colored chairs.

The woods in the room were light colored, and he had read recently that there was a movement back to the blond Scandinavian woods last popular in the 1960s and 1970s. There were pleasing artifacts scattered throughout the room: a pair of solid platinum-colored candlesticks; an unusual Japanese bowl; an elegant standing lamp; and, incongruously, a camera with a large lens on one of the side tables.

The bookshelves were made of the same light-colored woods, and he was familiar with many of the titles displayed there. He didn’t know much about the mathematical arena, the subject of many of the books – that wasn’t his field – but he had read and enjoyed many of the volumes of modern and classic literature there, the books by Dickens, Tolstoy, Faulkner, Steinbeck, even James Joyce. The first couple of chapters, anyway.

Having grown up inWest Texasin a physical desert and a cultural wasteland, he had made a big effort to leave the one and to cultivate the other.

He turned his attention to the prints on the walls, mainly abstracts, and was trying vainly to put the name of a painter to each one, when he had a fortuitous thought. He picked up one of the candlesticks and hefted it experimentally. It felt well-balanced and heavy in his gloved grasp. Yes, it would do the job admirably.

#

“Hey Jen, wait for me!” Jennifer Anderson turned and her expression lightened as she recognized her best friend, Anita Chanderpaul. Anita lengthened her stride to catch up, and took Jen’s arm as they crossed the lobby of the DoD building in centralWashington,DCwhere they both worked.

Both Jen and she had Doctorates in Math, Jennifer’s from UCLA and her own fromColumbia, and both were Data Analysts for one of the Information Systems agencies of the Department of Defense, involved in classified areas that they couldn’t even tell their families about.

“Where are you off to, Dr. Anderson?” The sardonic use of Jennifer’s title made both of them smile, as neither set much store by honorifics or professional designations.

“Well, Dr. Chanderpaul, I have to go to a seminar this evening, so I thought I could sneak off a little early. I need to take a shower and change so I can impress the assembled multitudes later on.”

“Make sure that Jack Biermann doesn’t catch you,” Anita said, but Jennifer tossed her medium length blonde hair and grinned as she acknowledged the reference to her boss.

“Jack’s actually pretty laid back about timekeeping, as long as the work gets done. And you know how much unpaid overtime we’ve both done in the past year.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Anita said. “So you don’t want a ride home tonight?” The two women operated a lift club together, and this week it was Anita’s turn to drive.

“No,” Jennifer said. “I’ll catch a cab home, but pick me up tomorrow as usual.” Her cell phone rang and she looked at the screen and said, “It’s my brother. Sorry Anita, let me take this call. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing. Say hello to Zack from me.”

As she walked away, Anita looked back at Jennifer who was in animated conversation with her brother. She had met Zack on a couple of occasions and thought he was an extremely attractive man. She knew that Jennifer was very close to her brother, who had practically brought her up since the death of their parents, twenty years ago, and in turn, Zack was fiercely protective of his sister. A mutual friend had once described Zack’s relationship with Jen as that of a grizzly bear with a cub.

Let’s see now, Anita thought, Jen is the same age as me, thirty-two, and Zack is six years older, so he’s just the perfect age for me, and as well as being seriously hunky, the rumors have it that he’s also seriously wealthy. Having my best friend as a sister-in-law wouldn’t be any hardship either.

Trailing dreams of wedding bells and with eyes sparkling at the thought of being Mrs. Zachary Anderson, she drifted back to her mundane cubicle and the reality of another working day.

#

The sound of the double-tap echoed off the walls of the room as Zack Anderson rolled rapidly to his right, holding the sights of his 9mm pistol on the figure of the terrorist, who was still in a shooting stance. As he came to a stop, he pulled the trigger twice in succession and saw the bullets smack into the throat and abdomen of his opponent.

There was no blood, and the terrorist image froze on the screen, as the sound of the gunfire paused the combat video projection the way it had been designed to do.

Zack rose to his feet and moved to the control panel set into an alcove in the basement room he had adapted as a firing range, which housed a sophisticated target emulation video system based on Zack’s own design. During the construction of the facility, he had worked with the builders and the computer people to achieve a state-of-the-art indoor practice firing range that rivaled even the FBI’sQuanticoinstallation.

Satisfied with his performance, Zack turned off the electronics and cleared his gun, dropping the magazine and working the slide to eject the cartridge still in the chamber. He left the weapon, one of a pair of Czech built 9mm pistols that he had had extensively customized, on a workbench for later cleaning.

Although the CZ-75 models had been around since the 1970s, Zack preferred the way they handled to more modern pistols and he considered that the 9mm parabellum cartridge was more than adequate for his purposes, even though other calibers offered more stopping power.

He climbed the basement stairs to the ground floor of the house and made for the study, pulling his cell phone from his pocket as he passed through the entrance hall. His study was at the back of the house and overlooked the wooded thirty-acre property on which the house was set.

The view from the study windows was spectacular and the vista opened up from the meadow at the rear of the house, over the large lake and on up to the high ground that filled the horizon. The trees added a welcome splash of color to the scene, and in winter, when the snow fell, their white-laden branches added a Christmas-like aspect to the panoramic landscape.

Zack had bought theNorth Carolinahouse just over a year ago from a local Real Estate Developer, whose combination of a losing streak at the track and a winning streak with the ladies had been unfortunately and lucratively discovered by his wife.

In the subsequent divorce settlement, he was stripped as bare as most of the ladies he used to consort with, and the property went on the market.  Zack bought it for a good deal less than the market value.

Now, a year later, he had made all the improvements and three horses were stabled in the converted barn: a chestnut mare, a grey mare and a stallion. He had fished the lake a dozen times, often in the company of local anglers, and the drinks and relaxed conversation at the house afterwards were as enjoyable as the fishing.

A training dojo, a workshop, and the firing range were installed in the basement, and he used them on a daily basis. All in all, Zack was pleased with the way things had worked out, and this was now the place that he considered his home.

He dropped into his comfortable high-backed leather chair and dialed his sister’s cell phone number. She answered almost at once.

“Hi, Jen,” he said. “You busy?”

“I’m at work now, and I’ve got a seminar later,” Jennifer replied. “What’s up?”

“Listen, I’m coming up to DC in the next week or so. You want to have dinner?”

“Sure. I’ve found a new Indian restaurant that I can’t afford, not on my salary, but I bet my good-looking brother can.”

“Okay, so the flattery worked,” Zack said, “even if your appetite will probably max out my card. By the way, we think that Amber’s in foal.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. You must be so pleased.” Amber was the chestnut mare and was Jennifer’s favorite. She invariably chose to ride Amber when she visited Zack.

“Yeah, it’s going to be a big event. It’ll be good to have a foal running around the property.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, and after Zack hung up he turned to look out of the study windows and smiled as he thought how good it would be to see Jennifer again. The last time had been about three months ago, and they enjoyed each other’s company immensely.

Her birthday was coming up next week and he decided that he would spoil her a little, or maybe a lot. There were some wonderful shopping opportunities inWashington. Maybe he could find her some antique jewelry, which she was crazy about, or, going to the other extreme, maybe upgrade her camera gear to the latest digital SLR bodies and lenses.

Later, he was forking hay for the horses when he remembered that he had tickets for the new Lloyd-Webber show. He dialed her cell phone again, but this time got her voice mail. She must have switched her phone off as soon as she hung up.

“I’ve got something for you. This’ll kill you.” He left the message and ended the call, grinning as he imagined her excited reaction to his message. Jennifer was all grown-up now, a mature, intelligent woman, but she just couldn’t stand waiting for surprises to materialize. As soon as she got his message, she would call him back.

#

In the cab on the way home, Jennifer relaxed on the back seat. She was pleased that she would see Zack soon. Her brother was the most important man in her life and all the other relationships she had had with men so far, no matter how intense at the time, were far less significant than her bond with Zack.

The cab ride passed quickly and as they drew up at her front door, she glanced at the meter and calculated a generous tip.

“Here you go, thanks for the ride,” she said as she got out of the cab and handed the fare to the driver with a flashing smile.

“Thanks Ma’am,” the cabbie said as he drew away from the curb.  “Enjoy your evening.”

“You too,” she called as she fished her keys out of her bag and prepared to unlock the door.

The red telltale light set in the doorjamb, which indicated that the alarm was set, was not lit. Jennifer looked at it and tried to recall if she had switched the system on when she left for work that morning. She was almost certain that she had activated the alarm, as it was by now a reflex action to punch the numbers into the keypad when she left the house in the morning, akin to brushing her teeth.

Maybe there had been a power failure in the neighborhood? It had happened a couple of times before, and when the power was cut the alarm system didn’t reset itself, merely reverting to an off status. With today’s technology, there must surely be a way to get the alarm system to retain the settings when the power dropped and to re-activate them when the power had been restored, and Jen made a mental note to contact the alarm company and ask them to look into it.

At least she didn’t have to switch the alarm off this time. She unlocked the door and entered the house, closing and locking the door behind her. She moved down the hall and walked into the living room, bright and welcoming in the late afternoon sunshine.

#

He heard the front door opening and closing, and glided to one side of the living room entrance, flattening himself against the wall. As the woman walked past him, not registering his presence, he swung the weighty candlestick at the back of her blonde head.

It connected heavily, and she staggered forward and fell face-downwards on the carpet, pulling over one of the side tables, the one with the camera on it. The camera landed on the carpet beside her. She wasn’t unconscious, however, since she rolled onto her back, one hand fumbling with the camera, and he heard the klok, klok, klok sound as the camera mechanism fired.

He was moving toward her by then, dropping to one knee, swinging the candlestick high over his head, and bringing it down squarely, and with great force, directly on her forehead. He felt the bone give way, and the camera rolled to one side as her grip on it loosened.

He changed his hold on the candlestick to give himself a better grip and methodically pounded her face until he felt the cheekbones collapse, the nose break and flatten, and the teeth shatter under the relentless series of blows. He kept it up until he had destroyed the eyes, and then tossed the candlestick to one side.

He picked the camera up by the strap and swung it overhead and brought it smashing into the floor. He repeated this a few times until he had buckled the camera body and smashed the lens. He tried to open the camera and remove the film, as he had seen people do on TV, but he couldn’t figure out how to do it.

It didn’t matter anyway. He was impatient to get to the really enjoyable part of the proceedings. He would take a look around the house later to see if there was anything worth taking, but for now he would enjoy the moment.

He knelt over the body and pulled her top up, exposing her bra. There was some sort of clasp between the cups, and he tried to figure out how to unhook it, but couldn’t do it. A surge of impatience and irritation swept through him and he hooked both hands in the cups, ripped the bra off the body, and tore it in two.

He unzipped the denim skirt she wore and slid it down her tanned legs to mid thigh. The entire body from the neck to her white panties was exposed. The feeling of perfect peace and calmness descended on him like it always did. This was his moment. This was what he had been put on earth for. He pulled the knife with the long serrated blade from the sheath at his side and prepared to make the first incision.

Title: Time to Say Goodbye
Author: Don Cummings
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services
ASIN: B005P0N7HI

Go to Time to Say Goodby epage @ Amazon »

Nigel stood in his office, looking out of the large mirrored window, at the deserted club below him. He was the owner and operator of Club Vampire, currently the hottest nightclub inNew York City. Club Vampire had been in operation for nearly a year now. With each passing week the club gained in popularity, with an ever-increasing number of hopeful patrons being turned away each night. The club played on the humans’ fascination for vampires, claiming to have real live vampires for the clubbers to mingle with each night. The public saw it as a clever gimmick. Vampires didn’t exist, right?

“This is the life,” Nigel said aloud to the empty room. He took a celebratory swig from the glass of blood he was holding. And he meant it; this was the life. He’d been alive for countless centuries, but this was the first time in his existence that he could say he truly enjoyed his undead life.

Not only was his nightclub a raging hit, with both humans and vampires. But he ran a very successful online dating service, VampLovers.com. The dating service also played on the humans’ fascination for vampires. Little did the humans know, vampires did use the dating service – and frequently!

There was one thing that Nigel still longed for; one thing that seemed to have eluded him for all his many centuries on earth: a woman to share it with. Nigel huffed. He may run an online dating service and currently the most successful club inNew York City, but he couldn’t find himself a woman to share it with. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him.

Sure, he had tons of women to choose from, but she couldn’t be just any woman. He was looking for the woman. The one he was destined to share eternity with, if she even existed. Call him a hopeless romantic, but he felt she was out there… somewhere.

Nigel sighed, took another drink and looked out onto the dance floor of the club.

The entire club could be viewed from his office. To his left was the stage area where the band ‘Intensity’ would start to set up in a few hours’ time. Directly below him was the massive dance floor and to the right, was the upper balcony, lined with plush velvet red sofas and a bar.

Bartenders, William and Franny were busy getting ready for the Friday night craziness. He downed another swig of his blood as he watched them. William was a large vampire with the body of a lumberjack, and the intelligence of a… well he didn’t like to think badly of his employees and friends. However, it did irk him that William had found Franny, right here at this club five months ago. Granted, she wasn’t really Nigel’s type. Too blonde, and too high maintenance for his liking. But they were happy. You could tell just by watching the way they interacted with each other: laughing, sharing intimate looks, or a brief kiss while they worked. When William met Franny she was human, her first time at the club. Just over a month later he’d turned her. And the rest, as they say, was history.

Nigel glanced down at the gold Rolex on his wrist.Five pm. In an hour’s time he would make his way to the security room where the vampires born of the Queen’s bloodline would gather to start making the selections from the potential humans who would have already begun to line up in front of the club. Vampires of the King’s bloodline, came through the back and their admittance was at the discretion of his security team.

“Nigel,” A sweet, soft female voice called to him from the open doorway of his office, which on many days doubled as an apartment. He felt a stirring in his pants, at the sound of her voice. It was the human Trinity; sweet and delectable Trinity. He cursed the day he let that little number slip through his fingers.

Turning to the sound of her voice Nigel watched her enter the office, quickly followed by Travis. Her mate. Jealousy reared its ugly head, which he almost managed to subdue.

As they came closer, Nigel made a show of sniffing the air before commenting, “I see she’s still human, Travis.”

Travis stepped close to Trinity and placed a protective arm over her shoulders, pulling her close to him. She allowed herself to fall against his body, slipping an arm around his waist. They shared a look that needed no words but spoke volumes.

Again, the longing to have just that surfaced within him. To find that someone who would live and die for you. Nigel was sick and tired of the one night stands and the flings. So tired, that for close to a year now he’d thrown himself into his work. Perhaps that was part of the reason why his business endeavours were doing so well. At least there was an upside to his solitude.

Yes, it was a great life. Almost perfect.

“Not that it’s any business of yours Nigel, but it will happen soon enough,” Travis replied, as his hand caressed Trinity’s bare shoulder. “I want her to spend a couple of years more as a human.” Travis looked down at Trinity, whose eyes were watching her lover intently. “We have an eternity to spend together so there’s no rush…”

“But not too long,” Trinity interjected, “I don’t want to spend forever looking old.”

“You’d be stunning to me at any age. Now, or fifty years from now.”

Trinity crinkled her nose up at him, but her bright blue eyes shone with amusement. “But then I’d be in my seventies. People would assume I was your grandmother, Travis.”

Travis bent down and nibbled lightly down the side of her neck, causing a soft moan to escape her lips. Once he hit her collarbone he stopped, remarking: “I suppose doing that to my granny would be frowned upon?”

Trinity giggled as she nodded, “I would think so. Yes.”

Nigel looked on guessing that both amazement and envy showed on his face. He raked a hand through his brown hair as he rolled his storm grey eyes. At one point in time, not all that long ago, Travis had been a lot like Nigel. He enjoyed women, vampire and human alike; had no attachments and came and went as he pleased. He answered to no one, other than himself. This new Travis was – for lack of a better word – a sap.

He’s in love, a voice in the back of his head reminded him.

“The Queen will be arriving at the club in the matter of a couple of weeks. I would suggest she be turned by then,” Nigel advised, dryly.

Snapping his attention back to Nigel, Travis nodded. “Exactly what I was here to speak to you about.”

“Oh?” Nigel raised a curious eyebrow at Travis as he left the window and walked over to his large mahogany desk where he perched on the edge. “You have news about the Queen’s arrival?”

“Not exactly. I’m concerned about the clientele.”

“Clientele?”

Travis hesitated before continuing, “I’m… We’re…” he nodded towards Trinity and motioned out of the window towards William and Franny still hard at work preparing for the upcoming busy night. “Of the opinion that perhaps we should deny the King’s vampires access to the club, at least until the Queen has arrived and the issues between her and the King are resolved.”

Nigel lifted the crystal glass to his lips and finished off the blood inside. Setting it down on the desk next to him he shook his head. “No.”

“But…” Travis protested.

“It’s business as usual, Travis.”

“Nigel! The King’s vampires are becoming more destructive. They bring too much negative attention and publicity to this club. As head of your security I would strongly advise that…”

“Business as usual Travis,” Nigel cut in, standing and walking to the office’s exit. He motioned for Travis and Trinity to follow him, “Now let’s head over to the security room. The vampires should be arriving shortly to start making the entrance selections.”

Standing by the office door, he motioned for the couple to exit. As Trinity breezed by him, the smell of fresh peaches, sweet and succulent assaulted his nostrils, causing a stirring in his pants again. If he wasn’t going to find his future mate tonight, the least he would do was get laid.

It had been much too long since he’d last spent a night with a woman, vampire, human or otherwise. His dry spell was ending tonight, come hell or high water, he promised himself that. All work and no play was making for a very grumpy Nigel, indeed.

****

By9 pmNigel was so busy he had no time to think about love, nor the Queen nor anything else for that matter. His full attention was focused on the twenty monitors in front of him, labelled consecutively. One being the camera focused on the entrance and twenty being the one situated around the corner of the building, focused on the end of the line.

Behind him, fifty vampires yelled out their human selections as they caught sight of them on the monitors. The system developed to select the people admitted to Club Vampire was simple. If one of the yelling vampires behind Nigel took an interest in someone outside, they would notify Nigel, who – via a headset linked to the doorman’s earpiece – would notify him who was to be admitted and who turned away as they approached the front of the line.

While money, influence and good looks were a bonus when attempting to be admitted to Club Vampire, what really mattered was whether you caught the attention of Nigel or one of the vamps in the room that night. With the massive turnout tonight the rejection rate for the night was currently at seventy percent.

As hundreds of women passed by the screens, none of them seemed to catch Nigel’s interest. Maybe I’m just getting too picky in my old age. He chuckled to himself at the thought of old age.

But then he saw her…

The dozens of voices behind him seemed to fade into the background as he noticed a woman on monitor number eight. He normally wasn’t a man fond of red heads. However, this one was stunning, enchanting, making him reconsider his distaste for them. While most women attempted to make themselves stand out by wearing outlandish, flesh-revealing outfits. This woman was dressed more conservatively: tight leather pants, with leather lacing running up the side and what appeared to be black work boots and a sleeveless, white button down blouse.

It was the hair which really caught his attention. Long, loose strawberry red curls flowed down to her lower back, ending just above her tight, round bottom. She somehow seemed to sense that she was being watched and looked up into the camera. Two emerald green eyes stared up at him. If he had to wager on it, he would guess she would be in her late twenties.

It appeared that she was with a group of women. The rest of the women in the group dressed as most of the other females attempting to gain admittance into the club.  They wore short skirts, low tops displaying expanses of cleavage, or dresses, in a variety of fabrics, though the favourites seemed to be leather, spandex, latex and vinyl.

“Monitor eight is mine,” he yelled over his shoulder. His declaration was met with a few groans of displeasure. When they made their way to the front of the line, he let the group of six women in.

Fifteen minutes later, the vampires cleared out of the security room as he told the doorman that the club was full for the night. By the time he had finished relaying the message the only people who remained in the office were himself, Travis, Trinity and three other members of the security team.

Standing, he passed the headset to the vampire named Evan and walked over to Travis and Trinity. “If there is any trouble…”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Travis assured him.

Nodding, secure in the knowledge that the safety of his club and its patrons were in good hands with Travis and Trinity on watch, Nigel brushed past the couple and exited the security room. He had himself a red-haired siren to track down. A smile touched his lips as he thought of how good it was going to feel to finally relieve the pent up sexual frustration he’d been experiencing lately.

****

While her friends were excited about having the good fortune of being waved into Club Vampire, they were there purely to have a good time. Lacey, on the other hand, was excited for an entirely different reason. She’d graduated from ColumbiaUniversitywith a master’s degree in journalism several years before, but she was having a rough time finding a job where she could be a ‘real’ journalist. Currently, she was working at the New York City Scooper, which was the journalistic equivalent of a sleaze magazine.

It wasn’t exactly what she had pictured for herself when she graduated. However, for most university graduates she supposed what they dreamed for themselves as they worked hard to secure those great grades and what they actually ended up with were two entirely different things.

Lacey felt certain that Club Vampire could be just the big break she was looking for. Club Vampire was infamous for its questionable activities. People seemed to end up missing or dead, in the vicinity, on a regular basis. And the stats seemed to be getting worse rather than better. The owner, Nigel Stafford refused to talk to reporters and for some odd reason the police seemed reluctant not only to do anything about the club, but to even comment on the situation.

Lacey, rummaged into her small, black satin purse and pulled out a black and white photograph of Nigel Stafford. It was somewhat difficult to see the photograph since the club was so dark, with only the coloured strobe lights for illumination, but when she held the picture close she could make it out well enough. He was a handsome devil, she’d give him that. His full lips were curved into a mischievous smirk. His strong, chiselled jaw told her that he was a force to be reckoned with. But it was his dark eyes… they seemed to call out to her, haunting her. They seemed to leap off the paper and pierce stright through her.

Once she was sure she had his face memorized she stuffed the picture back into her purse. Now all she had to do was find him, and of course convince him to talk to her. If he won’t talk to the police what makes you think he’ll talk to you? That voice in her head continually taunted her. Lacey clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, considering. She’d find a way to get him to talk. First things first: I have to find him.

Title: A Night at Club Vampire 2: Nigel
Author: Elixa Everett
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services
ASIN: B005TUF2Q8

Go to A Night at Club Vampire 2 page @ Amazon »

Some men fight against people from other countries in order to survive and to protect our society.  I had to fight society to survive and live comfortably in my own country.  I live a constant uphill battle to keep from being knocked down by others in an attempt at being a successful individual.  Before you call somebody a derogatory word or name, think first, and stop before you ruin a life.  That person may just be somebody who will change the world someday.  This could be you, your child or anyone else in your family taking this abuse.  Try to put yourself in their place, and give everybody a fighting chance.  Hopefully by reading about my experiences, you will be able to understand.

My first memory is when my family moved into our first home, I was still a baby and remember my mother holding me in her arms, as I looked around at the empty house. Too small to realize what was going on.  There were typical wood paneled walls, a style that was popular in the seventies.  My dad stood next to us while my brother and sister were nowhere to be found.  They had already been exploring the new house, and I guess they were staking claim on the bedroom of their choice.  This was where we would grow up and try to do our best with what we had to make a family.  My memories of growing up are very sporadic up until the time I was in high school.  I don’t know why I don’t remember more, childhood is supposed to be the best time of your life.  Maybe I didn’t want to remember.

When I entered school and had to associate with other kids, something wasn’t right.  I was different from all the others, at least in my eyes.  Kids can be cruel and they tease each other, but when they teased me, it affected me in a bad way.  I took the teasing and insults very personally and couldn’t understand why anyone would do this to me.  I wasn’t a mean kid, I tried to get along with everybody, but as I would realize along the way there were problems that were not my fault, it was the environment I grew up in.

The constant judging and ridicule I was subjected to had a big effect on my personality.  I didn’t think like everyone else, I didn’t react to things in the same way others did.  I was in constant fear of everything from my looks to the way I presented myself to others.  Was I acting the right way?  Was there a wrong way to act?  I knew that it wasn’t anybody else’s business, but I was afraid that my family and friends would be ashamed of me and that I would be hated.  I already felt like an outcast.  Why did I care so much about what other people thought?  Well the reason was obvious; people do care what others think of them.  That’s what society teaches us, but what they don’t teach us is that you can ruin a person’s life by making them feel unwanted or unloved.

If you’ve ever been judged or misjudged, if you’ve been criticized for who you are, if you’ve been hurt by someone’s words or actions, if you’re straight, gay, or bisexual, if you’ve been loved or unloved, if you’re strong or if you’re weak, if you’ve been abused, or have been the abuser, if you’ve been taunted or bullied, or have been the bully, and if you’re an addict or know someone who is addicted, or if you just couldn’t handle things in the usual manner, then you will be interested in reading my story.  I hope it inspires everyone, and you might be impressed with how my story ends.  I guarantee my story will touch you and make you think before you speak, because you may just ruin someone’s life in the process.  The effects can be unbearable, leading to such things as abuse, suicide, homicide, or sexual assault.  Fortunately I was too afraid to do anything horrible like that, but I very well could have.

It took me a long time to overcome issues of self-confidence, weakness, fear, hate, sadness, discouragement, unhappiness, and a general dislike of myself, because I had never been taught the coping mechanisms to deal with these feelings.  If you suffer from any of the above feelings, do not be afraid to talk to someone.  I know it may be embarrassing to admit these things to a stranger and you may be ashamed, but there are thousands of other people who feel the same way.  Have faith and look to a higher power for the strength you need to make it through the really tough times.  You may just save yourself or another from being hurt.

Chapter One

Nowadays, the typical family consists of a mother, a father, and 2.5 children according to statistics.  Most of the times after the children are born; couples will separate or even divorce because of differences not known to each other until it’s too late.  The family is already made and there are no other options. They must live with that decision.  You also have children who are born to single mothers.  It happens a lot more often now, because couples don’t get to know each other before the child is born, and then they find out that they really didn’t know each other at all.  All of these situations have one thing in common, the effects on the children, and how they cope.

My parents both grew up in large families and both were raised by only their mothers.  That just blows my mind, because now if a single mother raises more than three children on her own, it’s surprising.  They do the best they can, but it can sometimes end in tragedy.  Mothers have nowhere to turn on their own; they are left to raise the kids on a single income, which isn’t much.  They must fight for child support and usually courts don’t go after the fathers like they should, so the kids end up suffering and resenting their dads.  What kind of family is that?

Both of my grandmothers worked really hard to provide for their families in the absence of the spouses, one as a nurse and the other as a factory worker, leaving the eldest children to take on parental responsibilities to help raise the family.  This doesn’t always work out and is mentally strenuous on all involved.  I will never understand how they did it, nor would I ever want to be in their shoes.  I had no children for a number of reasons, some more obvious than others.  I could have adopted a child, or even had a surrogate carry one if I wanted.  Today, there are several options out there to help people who can’t have their own children, but want a family.  I could barely support myself, and wasn’t in the best mental condition.  Now kids are totally out of the question, too much time has passed, and I am now just starting to heal from a lifetime of hurt.

My mom was the eldest of nine. Their father left the family before the last child was born.  He moved to the west coast and started a whole new family with someone else.  I only remember meeting him once, when he came back to visit.  It was at my house and there were a lot of his grandchildren there to meet him for the first time.  We were all small and didn’t realize what a sorry excuse for a man he really was.  Our parents, however, thought we had the right to know our  grandfather.  He read to us from one of our children’s books, as we all gathered around him.  We were all young and didn’t know the truth about where he was and what he was doing away from his family, we just knew we did have a grandpa, and he finally had a face.   We found out later the man who read to us was physically and verbally abusive to the entire family, and that it would have a lasting effect on them, and the children they now raised.

My dad was sort of in the middle of his family. He was one of eight kids raised by my grandmother, who worked mostly nights and spent her days making sure everyone was fed, clothed and went to school.  There was hardly enough time for her to rest, and I don’t know how she did it, but everything turned out okay.  Her husband died when my dad was nineteen, and his death was never really spoken about.  I did learn that he was a drinker, so I’m not even sure he was there a lot while they grew up.  We were afraid to ask, and my dad’s side didn’t really talk about their feelings.  My dad rarely showed any emotion, unless he was angry or disappointed with you.  He quit school early and had no high school education, but went to work as soon as he was allowed.  My dad wanted to help his mom, so she didn’t have to work as much.

When my mother and father met, it was the sixties; things were a lot different than they are now.  My mom had two children already, but my dad was willing to raise them as his own.  Before that, my dad was in the army, and I guess he learned the discipline he lacked growing up.  That discipline was reflected in his parenting skills.  There was no crying, no showing of affection, and we were expected to follow the rules without exception.

I was a very shy child, and always needed to be by my mom’s side at all times.  My dad was a bartender to support the family, and was usually at work.  We hardly spent any time together as a family, and sure didn’t get the one on one that we probably needed at that age.  I wanted to play with other kids because my sister and brother were a little older than I was, so I made friends with the neighbor’s daughter Megan, who was my age.  We played together all the time. She was the only person I felt comfortable with.  The time came for us to enroll in school and when kindergarten started, we were separated.  This upset me very much, she was the only friend whom I knew, and now we were ripped apart.

This first year would be the one that would change me forever and would affect my personality.  I didn’t know how to make friends with the other boys, since my only experience was with a girl as my best friend.  When we played together we didn’t play army or cars, we played house. The school room was large and open, with tables in the center, and openings lined one side of the wall.  They were called cubby holes.  That is where we stored our coats and things.  Letters and numbers lined the walls, and in the front, there was a piano where we would sing with our teacher.  There was a section of dress-up clothes in the room and another section with more masculine toys, sports related.  I didn’t feel comfortable playing any sport because I wasn’t really good at anything and there wasn’t anybody to help me understand the rules of the game, and no one encouraged me to keep trying.  So when it came to playtime, I avoided the basketballs and headed toward the dress-up clothes.  Everybody noticed, and that’s when the teasing started for me.

I became withdrawn and didn’t want to play at all then, because what I wanted to do got me teased, so I basically hung around my cubby hole all the time and didn’t speak to anyone.  I never participated in class, but I did listen so I could learn.  I couldn’t wait until it was time to go home.  I got to walk home with Megan and spend the rest of the day playing with her.  I felt safe with her; she never made me feel like an outcast.

Winter came soon, that year there were some problems with the heat in the other kindergarten class.  This was a relief for me because I would get to see Megan again.  We watched programs likeSesame Streetand Mr. Roger’s neighborhood on the big television wheeled into the room.  There were activities like learning the days of the week and counting exercises, but again out of fear I did not participate.  I didn’t want anyone to make fun of me, because kids can be cruel even at that age.  I made friends with another girl in my class named Eileen. We were inseperable.  One day on our way to school it was snowing, more snow than I’d ever seen before.  It was cold, but I just wanted to throw myself into its softness. My sister normally walked me to school everyday.  We were allowed to go home early that day, and as usual, my mom picked me up to go home and Eileen’s mom came to get her.  There was a discussion about me possibly going over to Eileen’s house to play for the rest of the day, and I was excited, but her mom decided that since it was still snowing, that wouldn’t be a good idea.  I remember crying because we had gotten close in the past few months, and I thought that her mom didn’t want her to play with me because everyone teased me.

The following year we were promoted to first grade, but that wasn’t a real happy time for me, because the friends that I did make were off to Catholic school, and I was going to return to public school.  The one bright spot in all that was Eileen would be going to first grade with me.  We now had a longer day with the recesses and lunch break atnoon.  Then there was the thing I feared most of all, a new bunch of kids to meet.  Almost immediately there was whispering behind my back, plus the name-calling and insults started.  I began to look different now. My hair turned from blonde to red, and my clothes were a bit too small.  I would get my brother’s hand me downs, but we all got one brand new outfit when school started.  My mother’s choices for that year were ruffled shirts. Mine was yellow.  I hated wearing it because everyone teased me about it.  I wanted to go to Catholic school even more now, because everyone wore the same outfit.  I begged my parents to let me go, but my dad insisted that I go to public school.  At that time, he wasn’t earning much.   He did have a new job but also had five mouths to feed, clothes to buy, and bills to pay.  I didn’t understand why he kept saying no, I just knew he was sending me back to that hateful school.

One day when my sister walked me to school, there was a boy standing in the doorway of an old store, it had been closed down for years.  He ran down the steps and punched me in my face and laughed afterward.  Why would someone I don’t even know want to hurt me like that, he must have hated me for some reason.  More importantly, why didn’t my sister do anything about it?  She may have yelled or something, all I can remember is feeling hurt, not in my face, but in my heart.  I was never mean to anyone or talked about people behind their backs.  I was afraid to walk to school for days after that, I didn’t want the same thing to happen everyday.  That’s when my feelings of anxiety started.  I was eager to meet people like me, but didn’t know how to go about doing that.

Recess had begun and it was very cold that day.  The group of us had gathered together behind the school library to play.  Eileen wanted to play along with the others, but I didn’t want to embarass myself so I waited for her until she was done.  I wanted to be accepted by my classmates, so I huddled close to Eileen for warmth thinking maybe if they saw me doing something only older kids did they would be impressed.  One of the kids said “I dare you to kiss” so I did, just a peck on the lips, but he turned around and ran to the teacher and told her what I did.  She came over to us and asked if we did indeed kiss, I said yes, then we were escorted inside the building and told that was not allowed, we were too young to do something like that.  I can’t remember if we got in trouble at home, but I never tried that again.

The next year was very traumatic for me.  The kids had grown and became more hurtful to me calling me names like “faggot” because I got along better with the girls.  I didn’t even know what that meant, but I did know everyone laughed at me.  I never wanted to play with the boys because they made fun of me and teased me when we had gym. The gymnasium was a very long room located in the basement of the building across from the boys’ bathrooms.  There were echoes when someone spoke or when sneakers squeaked across the floor.  I wasn’t very coordinated and didn’t play as well as the others because I was afraid they would make fun of me.  I tried to hide behind the pillars and avoid having to participate in the excercises.  When the weather turned warm and we were allowed to go outside to play, the boys would try to get me to play dodgeball or basketball, but I said “no” and hid in a corner by myself.  I could hear them talk about me, and they even tried to hit me with the ball.

Halfway thru the year Eileen told me she was transferring to a new school because she was moving.  I was very upset about this, she was the only one who would stick up for me and try to get the others to stop teasing me.  My protector was going to leave me.  Who would be there for me?

My hope was that I’d find another friend to take my mind off of all the harrassment and things would get better.  I walked behind everyone else when we moved to different classrooms for each subject and stayed behind as long as I could so maybe the others wouldn’t pick on me. The classrooms were different; the desks had a top that lifted up where you kept your books.  The subjects were faster paced now and there was no playtime, except for recess.  Most of the day we stayed in one classroom to learn the basics like reading, math, and writing and in the afternoon we alternated between music, art, and gym.

I was seated next to a boy named Tony most of the time, and when we were in other classes he would stare at me and make faces, but often smiled.  Finally I thought I had made a male friend who wouldn’t make fun of me and he might stick up for me.  We talked everyday and played at recess, he was an explorer and liked to look around the building.  I had a pair of jeans that had a hole in the knee, so my mom put a patch on them.  It was embroidered with a bee and said “Don’t bug me”.  Tony would make fun of it and tell people it said “Bug me baby” even after the joke got old.  As time went on he would reach under the desks and touch my leg and make me jump, because I was very ticklish.  We were yelled at alot for playing or talking.  One day when nobody was looking he pulled his penis out and wiggled it around, I guess he was trying to get me to laugh, but the only thing he did was make me feel uncomfortable and I avoided looking at him.  Even though he did this alot, I still considered him my friend.  He came home with me to have lunch a couple times, and after we ate we went to my room to play.  Tony had a habit of touching me inappropriately while we played, but I didn’t tell my parents or anyone else because he didn’t really hurt me, just made me uncomfortable.

We walked together to art class and music regularly; we would sneak into the auditorium and other places on our way because we had ten minutes to get to class.  I remember Tony suggesting that we look in the lunch room behind a curtained wall to see what was back there.  It was dark back there and I couldn’t see him.  I called for him and there was silence.  I was scared and ready to get out of there, when he grabbed me by the hand.  He had pulled down his pants and made me feel him.  I remember being afraid someone would see us.  I couldn’t speak, I didn’t know then, but I was being molested by a schoolmate.  I kept still and he undid my pants but I quickly zipped them back up and got out of there.  I have no memory of him after that, maybe I blocked him out.  Recently I came across a picture of him on a sex offenders list.  He had been convicted of involuntary deviate sexual intercourse of a minor boy.

Was what everyone was saying about me true?  Was I queer?  No, it couldn’t be, I had not asked nor wanted that to happen to me.  I didn’t enjoy it; I was scared and really upset by that encounter.  He took advantage of me the way an adult would have to get what he wanted.  I was no participant in this, yet I was ashamed just the same and never told a soul about it.  It would just prove what everyone had suspected all along, that I was gay.  There were enough rumors going around about me and I was only eight years old.  Not old enough to make that kind of decision about my sexuallity, although society had branded me with that title based on what I looked like, how I acted, and who I was friends with.  Dear God, I was only eight years old.  People should never treat a kid that young the way I was treated.

The very disturbing thing is that recently, there has been a rash of suicides by young kids, because they were different and targeted by bullies.  Some were not even gay, but their classmates just assumed they were.  I wish that there was one person who would just speak out and stand up for that one unusual person who they go to school with.

Title: The Way I Was Made
Author: Remy Matthews
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services
ASIN: B005TK4GLU

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AUGUST 824 AD

The Viking longboat made its way slowly up the river. Its single sail was furled so the ship was propelled against the sluggish flow of the current by its thirty oars. The river was narrow and shallow but the longboat was perfectly designed for such conditions. Its width was only fifteen feet whilst it drew less than three feet of water. It was these statistics that rendered the longboat the most effective and feared naval war machine of its era. It could go places no other fighting craft of its size could go. It was early evening, with the sun about to dip below the high hills to the west. The river valley was filling with shadow. The air was still. A thick, twilight mist hung over the water; it pushed up through the trees that crowded this part of the small valley, giving them a ghostly, spectral appearance as the last rays of the setting sun filtered through them. The mist suited the longboat’s commander, as it afforded some measure of concealment. There was every chance that the boat could be brought right up to the monastery without any warning to the inhabitants of the settlement.

There was no sound except for the gentle splash of water as the oars dipped into the river and lifted. Halfdan Bloodaxe stood at the prow. His right hand rested on the large, carved dragon’s head that proudly glared its hostility to the world. He had not intended to make this raid. There was another, more important, objective to his travels from Norway down the east and south coasts of Ireland to this desolate south-west corner of the land. But for him, raiding was an honourable pursuit. It was what defined a young Viking man; that and the booty taken, brought him fame and respect, both necessary to promote him in Viking society. So when a small monastery had been sighted a short distance up the river earlier in the day, it hadn’t taken much for his crew to persuade him to deviate briefly from his original plan. He watched the reeds and rushes that were growing along the banks glide by as, with strong, swift strokes, the longboat neared its destination. It was desirable, indeed expected, whenever opportunity presented itself, to go raiding and fighting: plundering gold, jewels, coin and livestock; and slaughtering the original owners where possible. It was not considered to be stealing. But as raiding was not part of the objective of this voyage, he had only agreed to it because of the understandable frustrations being felt by the forty warriors under his command. His eyes narrowed as he suddenly spotted a young boy in the mist, running from the river bank into the forest that came down close to the water’s edge. He would be bringing now the news of the Vikings’ imminent arrival to the monastery settlement. This meant there would be no element of surprise in the Viking’s favour. There would probably be some opposition to them but most of the villagers would escape into the forest. He couldn’t afford to lose any of his forty crew men. He would have to plan the raid carefully to minimise his losses. He beckoned his second-in-command to him.

“Bring the boat in to that clearing up ahead, at the edge of the river,” he said to Olaf. “They will be expecting us to land further on where their own boats are tied. But we will come to them from out of the blackness of the forest. Take no prisoners and bring back only the most valuable items. We will need additional provisions for the final stage of our journey, so take whatever food can be found. Burn everything you can.”

Olaf nodded. “It will be done as you command,” he said. He turned and issued orders to the steersman at the stern. The man gripped the great steering oar and swung the boat towards the direction of the left hand river bank. The oarsmen shipped their oars. They stood up from their seats and went to where their spears and shields were heaped round the base of the big, pine mast. The eighty-five foot long craft was brought expertly alongside the river edge. One man leapt ashore immediately and tied it to a tree stump with a length of rope.

“Alrik and Gunnar will remain here to guard the boat. The rest of you come with me,” called out Bloodaxe. “We shall go through the forest. There is to be no talking or shouting until I say so. We must take them by surprise.”

The fighting force of thirty-nine men climbed silently on to the river shore. They all carried long spears and large, round shields made of tough leather covering a wooden framework. Except for Halfdan Bloodaxe: he carried the most feared weapon of all, a large two-bladed axe; and, in addition, he had a sword hanging from his waist. Each man was dressed in a woollen shirt and long, linen trousers held up by a length of string around the waist. Some also wore a coat, with a leather belt. All wore soft leather sandles. The group moved silently through the forest that was beginning now to darken as the setting sun’s rays withdrew from the valley. They followed a path that led in the direction of the monastery. As they neared the monastery, Bloodaxe began to run. His men did likewise. He wanted to hit the settlement like a thunderbolt hurled from the hand of Odin himself. As the group leapt over broken branches and trailing brambles, excitement and bloodlust began to build within them; they ran faster. This was the first raid they had undertaken on the long voyage from Norway and they were thirsting for action. As Halfdan Bloodaxe ran, he recalled the words of his father before he, Bloodaxe, had engaged in his first battle, ten years previously.

“If you knew you were to die in this battle, what would you do?”

Halfdan had replied: “I would strike left and right, without fear, with the knowledge that I would die anyway.”

“And if you knew you would survive this battle?”

“Why, of course, I would move forward with all the energy and courage I could muster.”

For the Viking, his death was preordained at the time of his birth and nothing he did would change that. Therefore, he had nothing to lose by being brave and adventurous in battle. If his death was preordained for that battle, he would die a glorious death. If not, he would survive with fame and honour to his name.

As the settlement clearing came into view through the trees, Bloodaxe shouted words of encouragement to his warriors. They shouted back in reply. They burst from the cover of the forest and descended on the round, wickerwork houses and monastery buildings. Most of the old men, women and children had already fled into the forest but a force composed of farmers and monks had stayed behind to defend their property. They were gathered close to the river landing where their fishing boats were moored. Through the fading light, the Viking raiders swept down the slight slope towards this group of Irish who were still preparing to defend themselves from a river attack. The invaders ran past the houses and past the stone and wooden buildings of the monastery. They streamed across the open space that lay between the buildings and the river shore, fanning out slightly as they did so. They came on the Irish from behind, with devastating force, smashing through the group, shouting out their battle cries. Shocked by the ferocity of the attack and in disarray, the Irish could only offer some slight resistance. Those that had not been struck down by the initial onslaught managed to regroup and for a short time they fought their attackers, killing and injuring several of them. But the Vikings proved to be too strong. Striking out with spear and sword and axe, the raiders eventually slaughtered all the defenders, save for two who plunged into the river and swam to safety on the other side. Then the Vikings went through the houses, looting and burning, killing anyone foolish enough to have been slow to escape to the relative safety of the forest. Then they turned their attention to the monastery buildings. They also looted and burned what they could there. In one room, five nuns were discovered, cowering in a large cupboard, hoping to escape notice. The Viking men had been at sea for several weeks, with few stops on their route down the Irish coastline. The nuns were dragged, screaming, outside. Here, they were stripped of their clothing and repeatedly raped amongst the burning buildings. Then their throats were cut.

The whole raid had lasted no more than an hour. The Vikings returned blooded but triumphant to their longboat. Three of the warriors had been killed and a few injured. But Halfdan Bloodaxe had reason to feel pleased with their success. Although there had been little in the way of valuable booty – just some gold plate and silver chalices and a few gold ornaments, as well as some food for the next stage of his journey – his men had been able to release their pent up energies and frustrations. He hoped that they would now be in a better frame of mind to continue on to their destination. But having fought a battle, they were now in a mood to return home. They couldn’t see the point of continuing on some unknown quest to this bleak corner of Ireland.

“It is time for us to return,” said one of the warriors as they feasted on a slaughtered ox at the side of the river. “We have been many days with no plundering, save for this day. What is the point of this journey, Halfdan Bloodaxe? Where do you take us?”

Bloodaxe remained silent for a moment. Then he stood up and thrust his sword violently into the ground in front of him. The flames of the fire lit up his face. “I am your leader and wherever I lead, you must follow. If any one of you wishes to challenge my authority, let him now speak out.”

The group of warriors looked at him in silence. None of them dared to take up his offer. His reputation as a fierce fighter, with the strength of a bull and the swiftness of a deer, ensured this.

“I understand your feelings,” continued Bloodaxe, in a more conciliatory tone. He began to walk round the fire and between his men. As he spoke, he occasionally struck a man lightly on the head to emphasise a point. “We have not stopped on our journey to raid or trade as would be normal that is true. We have spent many days at a time at sea without putting in to land, that also is true. We have suffered storms and near-shipwreck. But, my friends, we are now close to our destination. The thing we have come for all this way is at hand.”

“You speak in riddles,” complained one of the men. He stood up and confronted his leader. “We do not understand. Tell us what it is we seek and where we might find it.”

“Is it gold and jewels from some rich monastery?” asked another.

“Perhaps it will be a beautiful Irish princess for our king back home,” sneered a warrior.

Their leader laughed out loud. “No, it is none of those things. You cannot guess it; nor will I tell you, for it has been forbidden for me to do so.”

“Where then is this thing of which you cannot speak?” said the warrior.

Bloodaxe threw a large stick on to the fire. Sparks exploded up into the night sky. “Tomorrow we will board our ship and row back down to the sea. Then I will show you,” he answered.

Early the next morning, the longboat reached the estuary of the small river and sailed out towards the open ocean. Bloodaxe stood at the side of the pine mast. The rough, woollen sail had been hoisted and now, filled with wind, it drove the craft forward. To his right, a high headland, reaching far out into the ocean, blocked his view. They would need to round that before he could be certain. It was several years since he had last sailed these waters; headlands were often similar. He breathed in deeply as the long, narrow craft plunged down into the troughs of the waves and rose again, sending showers of spray cascading over him. The smell in the air here was different from that of his native country but he couldn’t say exactly what the difference was. But it was fresh and invigorating. He breathed deeply once more. Yesterday’s raid on the monastery had put him in a good mood. He, too, had been feeling the strain of the long journey. But now, as the longboat rounded the headland, his destination finally came in sight; he grunted with satisfaction. He turned back to face his men.

“There it is,” he said. “Our destination! There is where we must go to find this thing, the reason for our long journey.” He pointed with his right arm towards the horizon.

His warriors lined the side of the ship in silence. Then there was an audible intake of breath, as they stared to where he was pointing. A few miles in the distance, a mountain top, with sharp twin peaks, reared out of the sea. It formed an island with sheer rock faces reaching seven hundred feet into the air. The colours of the rock were black and purple. At the base of the island, waves pounded these bleak rocks, sending plumes of spray surging upwards. Beyond the island, there was only open ocean to the distant horizon. To the Viking warriors, it appeared a place of barrenness: wild, inhospitable and dark.

“It looks a foul, malevolent island,” muttered one of the warriors.

“Nothing worth having can be there,” said another Viking. “It must be the abode of witches and goblins.”

“It may be so,” replied Bloodaxe. “But that is where we shall go.”

His crew of Viking warriors began arguing amongst themselves. He could see resentment and hostility in their eyes. Most of them were farmers. At this time of the year, they wanted to be at home, gathering in the hay and grain, preparing for the long, winter months ahead. As the longboat moved further round the headland, Halfdan Bloodaxe noticed a small bay to his right. It had a wide open beach and above the beach was a collection of round huts. Beyond them, further up the valley, there was a small stone church. Hazy smoke drifted up from the village.

“Today, we shall make another raid,” he said to his warriors. “Then we shall feast and rest again. After that, we shall do what we have come all this way to do.”

CHAPTER ONE

Early June, 2008 AD

Jacinta stood in the shadow of a doorway. She was watching a figure twenty yards away, clearing litter from the entrance to her premises. In spite of it being summer, an unseasonable raw wind blew across the run-down street of grey Victorian buildings, bringing with it the occasional flurry of rain or hail. The pavements were cracked and uneven. The cobbled road was still littered with last night’s rubbish of fast food containers, plastic cups, empty beer cans and potato chips. Council cleaners seldom came here. The street played host to the kind of shops one might expect in such a seedy area: a pawn-broker, an adult sex shop, several small fast food businesses, their front facades in need of paint, a massage parlour, a bar. Jacinta made a wry smile as she continued to examine the tall, slim woman, with a green bandana tied round her head. She had finished sweeping the litter into the gutter; she had straightened up and was now leaning on her broom. So this is the person, thought Jacinta, whom my masters have selected to save the world from destruction. She seemed an unlikely choice to Jacinta. She wondered what was special about this woman. For a moment, Jacinta felt a pang of envy. She had been in the business for years and had never been called upon to do anything particularly significant or historic. And yet, here was this unknown entity in front of her, probably just scraping a living from what she did, about to be plucked from obscurity and sent off to fight the ungodly Fallen Lords of the Paths of Darkness. Jacinta sighed. She had given all her strengths and talents in the service of the Path of Purest Light for forty years but she had little to show for it. And what thanks had she received? None, really, apart from a few nods and smiles in her direction, an occasional pat on the head. She had done nothing really tangible that she could boast about to her grandchildren; if she had any, which she didn’t. But she had to admit to herself that she was fit only to be a plodding foot soldier. Her talents had nothing particularly remarkable about them. Foot soldiers were, of course, needed to keep the cogs of the machine going, so I suppose in that way I am important. But this nonentity of a girl in front of me, in spite of her appearance, had to be someone quite special. If I play my cards right, thought Jacinta, I may still leave this world with a bang. She knew she didn’t have much time left to her on the planet. That was one of the disadvantages of being a psychic and an energy intuitive. You knew roughly when your time was up.

Jacinta glanced at her watch. It was about eight in the evening and, with the thick cloud overhead, the June night was closing in. Not much daylight left but that did not matter. It was probably best, actually, to wait until it was darker: just in case somebody was watching. She drew back more deeply into the shelter of the doorway, wrapping her coat closely around her. She took a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from a pocket. She lit a cigarette and drew deeply on it. Jacinta seldom smoked but she had never been able to kick the habit when on an assignment. She really did feel it calmed her nerves although her doctor had said that was nonsense. Her mind went back to that time forty years ago when she had received a knock on her door. That was when it had all started for her. She had been thrilled to be part of the Path of Purest Light. She had had great expectations but, as the years had rolled by, some disillusionment had set in. She had naively thought that she would be involved in heroic deeds but these had not happened. But now, as a minder to this ‘girl’, opportunity might present itself after all. She would have to say something to her, though, about the way she dressed. Jacinta thought it important to dress smartly and present a good image to the public. She herself liked classically cut suits of skirt and jacket with comfortable brown shoes with no more than a slight heel. But this woman she had been watching for some time now was sloppily clothed in flared jeans and a long woollen cardigan that reached to her knees; not to mention that awful bandana she was wearing. Jacinta dropped her half-smoked cigarette on to the pavement and crushed it with the toe of her shoe. She slipped a mint into her mouth and stood sucking it for a moment, savouring the strong flavour. The young woman had disappeared inside although she had left the broom leaning against the railings. Jacinta was about to step out of the doorway and cross the street when she stopped. A man had appeared from nowhere and was now ringing the bell. She swore under her breath and stepped back. She saw the door open and a brief conversation took place. Then the man disappeared inside and Jacinta had to wait for another half an hour until he emerged. By this time, she was shivering with the unseasonable cold. He looked left then right, before scuttling down the street with his hands pushed deeply into his pockets, his coat collar pulled up round his ears.

Jacinta now crossed the street and went up to the door. It had the usual peeling paint of most doors on that street and a dull, deep brown colour that was useful to obscure the grime. A tarnished brass push-bell was to the side of the door. Above it was placed a small white plastic plaque, with two large words etched in black: PSYCHIC LUCINDA, with a phone number below the name. Underneath the phone number, there were some more letters, very small and half obscured with dirt. Jacinta rubbed the plaque with the sleeve of her coat: (OFFICE HOURS: MONDAY – FRIDAY, 4 – 10 PM, STRICTLY BY APPOINT. ONLY). She wondered what this Lucinda did during the earlier part of her day. When given this assignment, Jacinta had been provided with little background information, except name and address of the woman in question and what to say to her. Well, she would find out these other details soon enough. Jacinta was the sort of person that others opened up to easily; as well as being quite good at reading a person’s mind, provided that person had not established his or her protective firewalls. Which, of course, the vast majority of people hadn’t.

Jacinta pressed the bell once then stood back expectantly. She heard muffled footsteps and the door opened.

“Lucinda?” Jacinta asked, needlessly.

“Yes. Have you an appointment?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Well, you will have to make one and then come back. I’m busy at the moment.” She leaned out of the doorway and stabbed a finger at the sign. “Read that.” She tried closing the door but Jacinta already had her foot in the way. “I can give you a slot at four o’clock tomorrow if that suits you.”

Jacinta did not move. She stared at Lucinda. “The only appointment you have now is with your tea pot and jam sandwich. Then at nine you have a client. Am I right?” Lucinda flushed slightly. Jacinta sensed the girl’s firewalls being activated. “So whilst you have a cup of tea, maybe we can also have a chat. It’s very important.”

Lucinda nodded and opened the door wider. She turned and, without a word, led Jacinta down a short, dimly lit passageway to a door at the end. She opened the door and ushered her guest in. The room had muted wall lighting with just a small round table and a few straight-backed wooden chairs as furnishings. The walls were covered in dark drapes and the ceiling was painted crimson. Hidden speakers relayed, very softly, some kind of New Age music, the kind of music that jarred on Jacinta’s nerves.

“I see you use a crystal ball,” said Jacinta, pointing to the glass object in the centre of the table.

Lucinda shrugged her thin shoulders. “It’s old fashioned, I know, and not necessary but people expect something like that. I also use cards and palm of the hand, whatever my clients like.” She motioned Jacinta to take a chair and sat on one herself. “It matters little to me. I couldn’t care less what method the client requests.” She tossed her head in a dismissive manner. Jacinta felt herself being scrutinised. She knew her mind was being probed by a high energy but, with her firewalls activated, the woman in front of her would be wasting her time.

“How about yourself? How do you deal with clients?” asked Lucinda.

Jacinta smiled at her. “I don’t work with clients. At least, not in the way you do.” Jacinta felt that probing again.

“Oh?” said Lucinda. “What do you do then with your psychic talents?” She said it in a sneering manner, as if she did not believe that Jacinta’s skills were up to much.

Again, Jacinta felt her mind being probed; only this time the energy had been ratcheted up to a much higher level and she struggled to maintain her firewalls.

“I work for the Path of Purest Light,” she replied. God! This girl’s energy was powerful! “I don’t know if you have come across them at all?”

Lucinda nodded her head. She undid the green bandana she was wearing and allowed her thick auburn hair to fall to her shoulders. “Yeah, I have heard something about them. Just a bunch of silly do-gooders, if you ask me. I wouldn’t bother giving them five minutes of my time.” She got up and went behind one of the wall drapes. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Thank you that would be nice.” replied Jacinta. This request she would have to make of Psychic Lucida was going to be difficult, she could see that. She could hear a kettle being boiled and the scrape of china. “What’s business like at the moment?” she asked.

“I’m doing alright. Can’t complain. I have a steady trickle of clients.”

Jacinta heard tea being poured then Lucinda appeared with two steaming cups. She placed these on the table then went back for milk, sugar and a plate of jam sandwiches. She waved her hand over the table. “Help yourself to whatever you want.”

There was something about the way Lucinda spoke that alerted Jacinta. “You are not very happy though, are you? You’re a bit frustrated with things at the moment.” Jacinta peered at the girl over her cup of tea.

Lucinda gave a little smile, then it was gone. Another toss of her hair. “No, I guess I’m not. It’s become a bit boring and mundane, telling people about their unhappy little lives. Having to cut out all the big stuff like what diseases they will get, when their marriage will break up, when they are likely to die and how.” Again that impish little smile. “I had a client once, a woman, who demanded to know everything about her life. So I told her.”

“What happened then?”

“It was a big mistake on my part. The woman committed suicide.”

“Oh dear!” said Jacinta sympathetically.

“In the note she left, she blamed it all on me. Said I had told her things I had no right to reveal. Of course, she didn’t realise that what I had told only had the potential to occur, that certain things at any rate she could change if she made different choices.” Lucinda took a gulp of tea then bit into a sandwich, scooping away a dribble of raspberry with a finger. “She ran out of the room, sobbing hysterically, before I could explain all this to her.”

“I see.”

“The police came knocking on my door but it all fizzled out in the end. They did ask me to do some forensic work for them. You know, finding missing people, solving murders and the like.”

Jacinta was starting to understand why the Path of Purest Light was interested in this girl. “And did you?”

Lucinda nodded. “Yes, for a while I cooperated with them. They gave me to understand that, if I did, they would overlook possible charges against me.” Lucinda’s eyes slid from Jacinta’s face and looked past her, beyond her. “My success rate was 98% but the pressure got too much for me and I withdrew. Didn’t see why I should be spending my time solving crimes that the police should have been doing. They didn’t give me a moment’s peace; ringing me day and night for every little misdemeanour that Joe Public committed. Trouble is the police knew they were on to a good thing.” She paused and looked back at Jacinta. “So I changed my name to Lucinda, re-located myself and began a new life.” She stood up and walked behind Jacinta. Her voice now had a hard edge to it. “That’s enough, for the moment, about me. Why don’t you tell me why you have come to see me? I could extract the information from your mind myself, if you would prefer.”

“Oh, really?” Jacinta did not turn to face the psychic but she stiffened her body, suddenly alert to this new, unfriendly tone.

“Yes, you haven’t told me your name but it is Jacinta, isn’t it? To be honest with you, Jacinta, I could blow your brains out if I wanted to. Fry them up hotter than your frying pan could. Your firewalls are not strong enough nor embedded deeply enough to keep me out.”

“I now realise that,” said Jacinta quietly.

“You are a small time energy intuitive working for this Purest Light crowd, aren’t you? Running their errands, passing messages and the like.”

Jacinta nodded. The scorn coming from Lucinda hurt her deeply. “It may not be much but it is work that has to be done by somebody.”

Jacinta felt a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s be clear about this,” said Lucinda. “Whatever you have come to ask me, the answer is no. I have no intention of getting mixed up in these silly psycho battles and feuds that go on in psychic space.”

“You haven’t heard what I have come to you about,” replied Jacinta.

Lucinda came back around and sat down again, facing her unwelcome visitor. “I’m waiting to hear. I’ll give you five minutes. Then, if you are not out of my room, it will be fry-up time.”

Title: Lucinda: Nails of the Crucifixion (The Lucinda Trilogy)
Author: Terry Thorp
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services
ASIN: B005N89VOK

Go to Lucinda: Nails of the Crucifixion page @ Amazon »

America today has about 15 million or more people truly unemployed. The current unemployment rate, at the time of writing this book, is hovering around 9.1%. The unemployment rate has lingered around 9% and above, slightly close to the 10.1% peak level during the recession. A huge number of the population is also underemployed, cloistered in the middle of jobs they really don’t like. Many of these workers are now cycling off federal emergency unemployment benefits. Consequently, there are millions who wake up everyday, either yelling at their jobs, desiring to have something else to do, or wishing they could have another job to supplement their tight budgets. So there’s so much fear in millions of homes on the dining table, especially for most Middle Class families, regarding their finances and employment conditions.

To make matters worse, the commonest song people hear by word of mouth or by watching too much Television is this: “there are no jobs out there.” Imagine hearing “there are no jobs out there;” obviously the first thing that comes into your mind is, “what am I going to do?” The average jobseeker searches day and night without end, hoping to jump onto some good job that could possibly solve the fears of life for their family and relations.

The situation has become so political that most of the companies that were bailed out 3 years ago with tax payers money, have decided not to start hiring, albeit with the alibi of “economic uncertainties.” Many companies have also shipped the millions of jobs that Americans were to do, to overseas nations, likeChina, apparently for cheaper labor thereby denying Americans employment opportunities in their own homeland.

It’s believed in some quarters that some American politicians from both sides of the political spectrum are manipulating the jobs situation of millions of people, whiles they themselves are fighting hard to keep their own jobs. However, many of the employers who are hiring also require a certain level of academic and professional skills and expertise, which the average person doesn’t have to fill in the job vacancy available. So the simple questions being asked everyday by millions are: Are there jobs out there inAmericatoday? If there are jobs, where could they be found? Are there jobs that my High School Diploma, or Certificate, or even Bachelor’s Degree qualify for? Can I make some six-figure salary without the need for a College Degree? What do employers look for during interviews? And if at all, what should I do during an interview to get hired? All these and other questions have informed the writing of this book as a good guide to anyone searching for their first, second, third or fourth job, or for the underemployed looking for an olive branch in the job market to hang on to.

For all these questions, the clearest answers are these: Yes, there are jobs in America today than are being reported; yes, there are good jobs, some with six figure salaries that require no College Degrees; and yes, employers are still interviewing but the format has changed and you need to update your knowledge and interviewing skills to be able to measure up to the scrutiny attached to the posted jobs.

This book seeks to provide the commonsense approach to tackling all these issues in clearer terms, giving you the carte blanche for getting your next job. I will provide you the best websites and job outlets for seeing and getting informed of where the jobs are. And if you are still worrying about your lack of College Degree, I will catalogue at least 16 very good jobs with good salary that you can immediately search into. Finally, when God smiles on you and you are invited for an interview, I provide in this book, a Human Resource insight into how employers expect you to behave and what they expect you to tell them in an interview to get their attention and possible hiring.

PART 1
WHERE ARE THE JOBS IN AMERICA TODAY?

WHICH SECTORS ARE HIRING?

Job Growth Sectors:

Regardless of whether the unemployment situation improves in the next few years or not, certain areas of expertise are reported by economists and labor experts to continue to become increasingly good bets for jobseekers for employment. The Bureau of Labor Statistics, Payscale.com, CNN Money and Forbes, all recently reported in various articles that the following sectors and job titles will continue to enjoy great growth in employment for the years ahead:

• Information Technology
• Software Architect
• Database Administrator
• IS Security Engineer
• Software/Development Director
• IT Manager
• Health Care
• Physician Assistant
• Physical Therapist
• Dentist
• Nurse Anesthetist
• Healthcare Consultant
• Occupational Therapist
• Consulting
• Management Consultant
• Environmental Engineer
• Actuary
• Risk Management Manager
• Construction, Architecture, Engineering
• Civil Engineer
• Retail
• Sales Director
• Business Services
• Certified Public Accountant
• Project Manager
• Scientific Research
• Biomedical Engineer

This list not conclusive; there are many more sectors and jobs with potentially great growth rates. But a look at these 20 jobs and popular sectors above reveals that a potential employee needs a certain level of expertise to qualify for something like, a Biomedical Engineer. It’s estimated that between 2008-2018, Biomedical Engineers job will grow by a whopping 72%. The headache for the jobseeker then becomes whether they have the requisite skills and expertise to get hired as a Biomedical Engineer.

It has therefore become necessary, and as many labor experts advise, that students and job seekers yet to enter into any job market inAmericain the near future are guided by the moving trends in the sectors, and get educated or trained specifically for these fields. Getting a degree alone isn’t enough inAmerica’s job market today; getting the right degree is what matters.

Who’s Hiring Now?

Everyday, hundreds to thousands of jobs are advertized in various places by hundreds of companies and in various media outlets. As you read on, I’ve provided a list of some of the best websites to see and search for the jobs that are posted. But for now, let’s look at some of the companies who are, as we speak now, in the hunt for people to fill the vacancies they have.

From UPS to the auto industry to big corporations, there’s a range of opportunities for all. Some of the best companies on Forbes’ Best Places to Work list are hiring right now.

This below is not in anyway exhaustive, but at the time of writing this eBook, the following companies, among many others are hotly hiring:

i) United Postal Services (UPS): Operating in over 200 countries and territories worldwide, UPS sends more than 15.5 million packages daily. They are searching for people for fill positions in Distribution/Shipping, Transportation, Manufacturing and Sales. Salary range for a sales person is between $40,000 and $100,000.

www.ups.com

ii) Bridgestone: A firestone tire and rubber company operating in 25 countries. Top positions Bridgestone is hiring are in Retail, Automotive, Installation/Maintenance/Repair;

iii) U-Haul: Headquartered inPhoenix,Arizona, this is the largest provider of Rental Trucks and Trailers. Some vacant positions are giving salaries ranging from $20,000-$60,000;

iv) Wegmans Food Markets (www.wegmans.com): Forbes places Wegmans in 2011 as the 3rd best place to work in. Wegmans is in the Food Industry, and is currently hiring for hundreds of jobs for positions in Management, Business and Customer Service.

v) Boston Consulting Group: The 2nd best company to work for on the 2011 Forbes Best Companies list, Boston Consulting Group is currently hiring for several hundreds of openings in all categories and practice areas. Majority of people hired join as consultants or associates, and salary payouts are also attractive.

www.bcg.com/careers/default.aspx

vi) NetApp (www.netapp.com): Ranked 5th on the Forbes list of Best Places to Work in 2011, NetApp has openings in several hundreds of positions with particular emphasis on engineering and sales.

vii) Edward Jones (www.careers.edwardjones.com): This financial sector company has hundreds of openings for financial advisors, branch office administrators and headquarters associates. Financial advisors alone have 500 openings to be filled.

viii) Cisco (www.cisco.com/careers): Cisco is the worldwide leader in networking that transforms how people connect, communicate and collaborate. Currently there are openings in over 4000 positions in research and development, sales, professional services, software engineers, and customer support, as well as other corporate positions including finance, HR, IT, facilities, marketing and legal.

ix) Whole Foods Market (www.wholefoodsmarket.com): Whole Foods Market has openings in all positions across the company, including store team leaders for their hundreds of stores.

x) American Express (www.americanexpress.com): This American multinational financial services corporation is headquartered inManhattan,New York. The company is currently hiring for several hundreds of positions in mobile payments/technology, digital marketing, customer service and finance.

xi) Intel (www.intel.com/jobs): A leader in the designing and building of the essential technologies that serve as the foundation for the world’s computing devices. Currently, there are openings for about 3000 positions in software engineering, platform engineering, technology development, and manufacturing.

xii) Deloitte (www.deloitte.com): It’s the second largest private professional services organization in the world. And currently, there are more than 3000 job openings going on in the company with positions in consulting (including technology, strategy and operations and human capital), audit and enterprise risk advisory, financial advisory, tax and internal services, and health care.

xiii) Marriott International (www.marriott.com/careers/default.mi): This hospitality industry giant is advertizing over 4000 job openings throughout the company, mainly in hotel operations, food beverage/culinary, engineering, and facilities maintenance. Opportunities are also available in sales and marketing, finance/accounting and human resources. There are also several hundreds of housekeeper positions.

xiv) Microsoft (www.careers.microsoft.com/gclp.aspx): This giant American company has over 6000 job openings all over the company, with concentrations particularly in engineering, sales and marketing, software development, customer service and support, and general business operations.

xv) PricewaterhouseCoopers (www.pwc.com/us/en/careers): Over 9000 job openings are available with positions in advisory, tax, accounting, and other professional services.

As indicated earlier, the list provided above isn’t in anyway exhaustive of what’s being advertized currently in the job market, but they point to the fact that there are still thousands of jobs available for the unemployed and underemployed to fill in. Hundreds of companies all over the nation are advertizing for thousands and thousands of positions. So apart from the official websites of the various companies, or by word of mouth, where else can one find information for jobs? I take you into a couple of sites in the next section.

WHERE DO YOU GET THE INFORMATION?

It’s very obvious that there are many sites and outlets that provide information regarding where to see and know about jobs being advertized. However, I have ransacked most of the websites we have in the country and I believe the 15 websites below are the best places to provide the average jobseeker the most current and authentic information on jobs. You can also help yourself well by searching from your local employment newspapers or from well patronized national newspapers.

The following are my picks:

i) USAJOBS: www.usajobs.gov
ii) Yahoo! Jobs:  www.yahoo.com. Search for Jobs; it actually takes you to monster.com.
iii) CareerBuilder: www.careerbuilder.com
iv)  Monster: www.monster.com
v) Simply hired: www.simplyhired.com
vi) Job Central: www.jobcentral.com
vii) Indeed: www.indeed.com
viii) AOL: www.jobs.aol.com
ix) Snagajob: www.snagajob.com
x) Job: www.job.com
xi) Government Jobs: www.usa.gov
xii) Dice: www.dice.com
xiii) LinkUp: www.linkup.com
xiv) The Ladders: www.theladders.com
xv) Best Jobs US: www.bestjobsus.com

Apart from these good websites, I recommend that jobseekers also search www.learn4good.com, www.5milliongreenjobs.org, www.manhattanjobs.com or www.wetfeet.com, as they are other very great sources of information concerning jobs in America.

Title: Jobs 101
Author: David Osei-Nimoh
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ASIN: B005TI4BOE

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It was a dark day in the late ending of the dynastic wars in the early 7th generation of Tasogare time; the war was either ending or getting worse. Provinces joining together to save the likeness of the world they all remember sharing since the dawn of their own kind. At the same token; provinces being split apart out of a devious nature of jealousy and racist hatred. Sounds like something we all have experienced on the news these days; flames growing higher and higher and the bodies count growing.

The Warai Province had shared a treaty bond with neighboring Arashi Province since it lost much of its population from a crippling disease that to this day still threatens.

Between the blindness of the children, and the crippling of the elderly – the Warai Province almost fell apart on its own two feet not so long ago. Struggling to keep a civil government suitable for long term peace and stability; much of its own corruption gained momentum long before the 5th generation even started. Arashi always had a soft spot for its neighbor, and offered a treaty of peace and stability, to train its military and continue building infrastructure to keep its province alive.

Devastating as it is, the diseases were still killing off people, the corruption still grew further – and further and worsened through this Dynastic Wars period. The province built Military was corrupted beyond belief and was no longer out to serve its’ original purpose. Absent without leave, mentally ill soldiers crossing boundaries and across the white snow of the mountains of the ancient family of Fujiwara (which sadly is no longer of any importance to Warai); killing and at best raping and pillaging through cities and towns.

While it hit everyone; and as you can tell from most of your usual media stories about war and devastation they always miss one or two major cases; and in this case the path to his own stability is a troubled one. All the time in the world couldn’t keep this poor guy on his rightful fate filled path, everywhere he turned the fork was in the road. Previous to his memories of trauma; Saitou Fujiwara was only around two years old on earth standards when his first fork became apparent.

Born from the Fujiwara family, which had royalty ties several generations before and now has a strong friendship with the Arashi Royal court despite laws locally in Warai preventing that from permanently happening, Saitou Fujiwara was not your typical outcome of childbirth on Tasogare. Born with a Tasogare alkaline metal set of blade wings he ripped from the womb of his mother in a strange sort of response. His eyes were liquid gold, and his hair a bright yellow gold blonde which matched his pale yellow complexion. Two Earth years meant a long time to someone on Tasogare – it was essentially a couple hundred years to fill before he was able to do anything of any value to a family or community legally.

The snowcapped hills of Fujiwara Mountains in the Northern Warai province were burned down before 150 years was up. In the equivalent month to December; young Saitou was taken aside as his family was brutally murdered and his own life spared by a thread. He was taken back behind a mountain and raped by a Warai Military unit. It was not just one man, it was not just two – but several; and the only time he possessed a sense of this power they described as shape shifting, quivered with the fusion that came by because of the disease his family carried, he was a wanted child. Because of the fact these men were engaging in not only a sexual act; but a violent act – the stress that it carried triggered a response. A fusion like that didn’t just ‘suck’ the attacker in, but an imprint of who was doing the deed was left.

This was the darkest hour for Saitou, that ever happened in his short life – for him to survive would be a miracle. Most would have shied away, or committed suicide from the thought of the memories in their own mind. Sitting by the only thing that brought him a sparkle of hope for his mind was the portal that resided in Warai, something that brought in immigrants of a strange land far away from Tasogare. In his darkest hour… screaming inside out for some sort of reverence.

It was as if his mind was tearing itself apart – on earth we could call this schizophrenia or worse, for some multiple personality disorder. Maybe the Earth Diagnosis manual is fucked, and we’re seeing these sorts of people in the wrong way; or something was about to go down, or in this case both. Flashes of light, gunfire and blood curdling screams from across the plains near the portal, this young mind started to struggle through its first phase.

‘If you love me why don’t you let me know?’

It was as if he realized his family was no longer there for him, as much as his family loved him – his only known brother was off training to be a part of the war from the Arashi Court. His parents were dead, dying previous to the murder to be exact. Nobody else of Fujiwara descent existed or so he thought; maybe there was someone but nobody he knew personally.

‘If you love me don’t you let me go?’

Seeking the internal strength, to stabilize himself he sat in front of the portal and prayed to whatever gods of Tasogare were listening. Sure to be found, the prayers turned into anti strength – and his body ripped into two slowly across the snowy plains. Two versions of himself, sprawled across his homeland – was he to survive what was coming for him? Where could he go from here?

Get up and walk on, and so he did …

Title: White Snow (Point Blank Tasogare Sekai)
Author: Jill Haldeman
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services
ASIN: B005SALARO

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“Grampi!  Stop the car!”

“What?” Grampi replied as he looked around and started slowing down.

“There’s a turtle in the road…stop the car now!” Samantha screamed.  Grampi dutifully pulled the car to the side of the road.  They had already gone way past the turtle, but Grampi knew from experience that Samantha would not calm down until they had rescued it.  Samantha was eight years old and loved animals more than anything else in the world.  Especially animals that needed her help.

After putting on his emergency lights, Grampi said, “You guys stay in the car, I’ll take care of the turtle.”  Gran, Samantha and her little sister Sophie turned around in their seats to be able to watch and make sure Grampi executed the rescue mission successfully.  Samantha and Sophie gasped as another car passed.  It came just inches away from turning the turtle into a turtle pancake.  As soon as the road was clear, Grampi ran out and grabbed the turtle out of harm’s way. At first Samantha was upset because she thought Grampi was going to put it down on the wrong side of the road.  She learned last summer that if you get a turtle out of the road, you should always put it down on the side it was walking toward.  Otherwise, the poor thing just has to start over and would go right back into the road again.  Grampi was bringing it in the wrong direction!

Before Samantha could object, she heard Gran call out to Grampi, “Oh no you don’t!  Don’t bring that thing is this car, it’ll hurt the children, it’ll bite us!”  Gran was almost to tears and Sophie was giggling as Sam realized that Grampi wasn’t putting the turtle down at all.  He was bringing it back to the car.  A wide grin broke out on Sam’s face.  She hadn’t been very excited about going to the store, but finding a turtle on the way home and getting to keep it made the trip worth it.

“NO NO Nooooooooo!” wailed Gran.  Samantha could see that Gran was scared so she tried to calm her down.  “Gran it’s OK.  It’s just a box turtle.  Mom lets us play with the ones at the nature preserve all the time.”   Gran was not soothed.  She was terrified of all reptiles, whether it was a snake, lizard, or even a turtle.  If it was a reptile, Gran didn’t like it.  Samantha’s mom called it a phobia.

Gran had been rummaging around her seat and triumphantly held up a plastic bag.   “If you are going to bring that thing into this car, it goes in the bag.” she declared.  Grampi looked at it skeptically, shrugged his shoulders, and obliged. He carefully lowered the turtle into the bag and started to hand the bag back to the children.

“No you don’t.” said Gran, “You think it’s a nice turtle, but we’ll ask their Mom before they can touch it.  It could have a disease, or be a different kind than the ones at the preserve.  Put it on the floorboard.”   She pointed to the floorboard at her feet. She was worried enough that she wasn’t letting it near her grandchildren. This made for an interesting ride home because the turtle was scared of the bag and clawing to get out.  Gran was scared of the turtle and screamed every time it moved.  Luckily, home wasn’t very far away.

Samantha’s mom was a zoologist, which means a grown-up who still likes playing with animals.  She knew cool stuff about all sorts of animals.  Samantha knew as soon as her mom gave the OK, she’d be allowed to play with the new-found turtle.  Samantha also knew that it was, in fact, a box turtle.  She could have told Gran the scientific name, Terrapene carolina, and whether or not it was male or female.  Animals were her thing too, and she had learned a lot from her mom.  Sam sighed.  Why don’t adults ever believe that children know anything?

She was broken out of her thoughts when the car turned into the driveway and came to a stop.  Sophie was already out of her booster seat and opening the car door before Samantha could even unbuckle her own seat belt.  Sophie was always trying to outdo Samantha.  Sam picked up the speed and raced her little sister to be the first to tell their mom.  “Grampi got us a turtle!” they both yelled at once.  They were in the middle of telling their mom all about the heroic rescue and how funny Gran’s screaming was when Grampi walked in with the turtle.

“We found him in the middle of town.  There wasn’t a safe place to put him so we brought him home.  I figured you would know what to do with him.”  Grampi grinned.  Samantha knew he was having fun with this too.

Title: Samantha Loses the Box Turtle
Author: Daisy Griffin
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services
ASIN: B005TEMZJ6

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Ash sighed heavily as he stared out of the window. The beautifully manicured grounds swept before him: magnificent rose gardens; geometrically perfect flowerbeds and borders receding into the distant wall and the high, iron gates. Not a soul was visible from his vantage point, he might have been the only being in all creation, and he was bored, bored, bored. He pulled a cord impatiently, his sharp ears picking up the faint jangle of the bell ringing in the servants’ quarters across the still courtyard.

“My Lord?” The man bowed low from the waist and rose to almost vertical, his eyes never meeting Ash’s.

“Where’s Skye?”

“Prince Skye is still out with the army, Sire. We do not anticipate his return before morning.”

Ash huffed inwardly. Until his brother returned, he knew he was forbidden to leave the palace. He dismissed the man with a flick of his hand and began pacing. Three whole weeks he’d been cooped up inside, with no-one to talk to and nothing to do. It wasn’t fair. And no-one here would tell him anything, even if he asked, Golem made sure of that. He pulled the cord again and the man returned soundlessly, so fast that Ash was sure that he hadn’t stepped further than the other side of the door.

“Send for Rowan,” he ordered. The man nodded, bowed, and exited again. At least he had one friend in this damned castle. Within moments he heard a gentle tap on the door and a young page entered. Tall and slim, with the same dark hair and smiling eyes as Ash himself, Rowan and he had grown up together, playing as children in the palace gardens.

“Man, I’m glad you called.” Rowan collapsed onto Ash’s bed.

“You’re busy?” Ash was surprised.

“You bet. We’re expecting the warriors back at sunrise, so we’re turning down all the suites now. The advance party arrived an hour ago but they couldn’t tell us how many would be coming back.”

“You mean -” Ash started forward.

“No, no,” Rowan reassured him hastily. “I think they’re all okay, but the warriors are splitting up. I know a group have gone to the north gate, and a relief party’s gone to join those at the west, but your brother’s bringing some home before heading out again.”

“How come no-one’s told me any of this?”

“I’m sure Skye’ll tell you himself, when he gets here.”

“But if he’s going out again that means I’m going to be cooped up forever!”

“Not from what I’ve heard,” Rowan looked smug.

“What have you heard?”

“You’ll see.”

Title: Blood & Ash (Lost Realm)
Author: Kate Aaron
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services
ASIN: B00589WJFW

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Lester ended up knocking seven bells out of a beefy Northerner. That was the night at the Silver Spade when they had their first contact with the world of Jistabout.

Because it wasn’t really a beefy Northerner. In fact the man was so to speak the advance guard from this Jistabout place, this other England where they would spend several months while only a few minutes elapsed back home.

Of course, Franter knew who the guy was and where he hailed from.

He knew. Lino Franter, that buck-toothed bachelor. Sitting there with his hair slicked back and his shoulders built up with strips of newspaper bandaged together (no one ever dared mention his upholstery), Lino knew.

There he sat at the table with Lester and the rest of them, amiable but weird. Franter was quite a sight, no denying it.

Lester himself was into bodybuilding and had achieved results using only weights and protein shakes, taking pride in the fact that he never touched steroids.

‘Lino hates steroids, the same as I do,’ Lester had confided to Gus. ‘If he gets a bit of bulking-up from old copies of the evening paper, good luck to him.’

When work at Stark Engineering permitted (he was often on the night shift), Lino Franter liked to join their table at the Silver Spade on a Friday. A lot of noise came from their corner nook crowded with a dozen or so drinkers.

There they were–

Gus: fairly slight and stoop-shouldered, a small-time ladies’ man.

Lester: tall, bespectacled and heroically built himself if you ignored the beer gut.

Lino: a candidate for the nearest freak show.

Other friends came and went, but it was starting to seem as if Gus, Lester and Lino were the Three Musketeers, even though Gus was a bit leery of Lino. In fact, frightened.

‘The Musketeers? One for all, all for one,’ said Lester, amused and flattered by the idea.

The air that Lino had about him was usually enough to ensure that no one tried to get funny. In living memory, Lino Franter had not been put to the acid test of a bout of fisticuffs. A look from him was usually sufficient. The fact that it would have been no surprise to see a couple of bolt heads protruding from under his shirt collar counted for quite a bit. Who wanted to get snarled up in a Chamber of Horrors?

It took that boozy, bald-headed Northerner to go into the Silver Spade, see Lino there well-upholstered and minding his own business and shout:

‘Is he for real?’

The others at the table were offended. Lino shrugged. Lester began to twitch, clenching his fists and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

‘Toss-pots!’ concluded the Northerner. With his three friends, one of whom was a local side of beef well known in the Silver Spade, he went to the bar.

Silence settled over the corner table. Gus was watching Lino, or the ‘Zombie’ or ‘Freaky Franter’, as people called him. Lino cocked his head, but showed no other reaction.

The newcomers perched themselves on bar stools. People either side moved away. Every so often the four of them would cackle and snigger, looking over their shoulders at the ‘Freak’ sitting at the table that was once again creating a lot of noise. One of the visitors muttered something about a ‘geek puffed up like wheat’.

Lester opened a window and one of the newcomers said he didn’t like the draught. He came over to close the window.

‘I can feel a real breeze,’ said the guy, running his hand down his arm. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt.

‘That’s not a breeze, it’s this stuff known as fresh air,’ said Lester with a menacing grin. ‘Don’t touch the window.’

‘OK, OK,’ said the guy, raising his hand as if in blessing; he returned to his bar stool.

The MC got on stage.

‘Please welcome the Bandar Log, a combo destined for higher things!’

Maybe they were. For a folk outfit they produced a fair racket.

It was during a rendition of ‘Molly Malone’ that the red-faced Northerner came over on Lester’s coat tails as he returned with a tray of drinks. The man stood facing Lino. As the Bandar Log concentrated on their lament everyone felt that this was the showdown expected all night. Lester parked his laden tray on the table.

Lino and the Northerner eyed each other, then Lino shifted in his chair and raised his padded shoulders. At that moment the Northerner turned back to Lester and, taking up his friend’s complaint, began arguing about the breeze from the window. Lester got the guy by the collar, hauled him outside and landed punches one two three. The skin and hair began to fly, hardly any of it from Lester. In the end the Northerner decamped with his retinue, shouting abuse.

‘He’s actually saying he won that little bout,’ said Lester, offended like. ‘Hey, listen,’ he went on, ‘what do you boys say about moving on to the Rollin’ Gold?’

Several of them were keen to visit this night spot near the railway station. No one would quibble about the entry fee if the drinking and the search for talent could be prolonged beyond midnight.

During the discussion Lino had said his farewells and left the Silver Spade; he would never have got into the Rollin’ Gold with his tattered blazer and grey flannels anyway.

Gus, Lester and half-a-dozen others ambled down dimly-lit Leopold Street and proceeded past Bloss and Braybrook’s, that celebrated office building with a curving skin of black plexiglass. If they had raised their eyes they would have seen a figure perched on the edge of the shiny wall.

Looking down at them, Lino Franter grunted.

‘Gus,’ he said as they passed beneath him, ‘Gus Taber!’

Gus looked up.

‘Hey, what’s that? There’s a big bird up there or something, like a black owl.’

‘Black owl!’ sneered Lester after a brief upward glance. They continued on towards the Rollin’ Gold. Gus shrugged and followed them, then looked back. The ridge of the building was bare. Something came fluttering down, turning over and over.

He went back and picked it up and squinted at it in the moonlight: a strip torn from the Evening Star newspaper.

Title: As Far As Jistabout
Author: Rygo Quinlan
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ASIN: B0057B00JI

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